A/N: Um, about other Superstars being younger…Maybe. I just had an idea about a certain Superstar being in here (because his father is the new head writer for ECW. Do you really need me to extrapolate?) but he'd be really, really young yet…I just did some research and he'd be SEVEN. So maybe some other Superstars…

September 30th, 2007 11:12 AM

Welcome to my own personal hell.

Okay, so maybe saying that it is hell around here is a bit harsh, but I come from a harsh family that lives in the harsh wrestling world. Is it really that harsh? I don't know, but that's what Mr. Gewirtz said to me.

Oh, I should probably tell you what the hell is going on. Well, this morning, my mother woke me up at seven in the freaking morning and told me to make myself presentable in business casual wear. Yuck! I hate that stuff. Anyways, now I'm stuck in black dress pants and a really ugly maroon blouse that is too big for me. Double yuck. About an hour later, Mr. Gewirtz came over and started talking to me about stupid storylines. This is how the morning went…so far.

"Good morning, Miss McMahon," Mr. Gewirtz said, shaking my hand. Emily would get a kick out of me being called Miss McMahon.

"Miss McMahon? Um, can I just be called Stephanie?" Seriously, Miss McMahon? That makes me sound like a prudie princess. I like Stephanie just fine, thanks.

"Oh, I'm sorry Miss…I mean Stephanie." I think he was embarrassed. I didn't mean for that to happen, really. I think he's just a bit nervous about this since my dad is his boss.

In all honesty, I wouldn't want to work for my father, either.

"So, Mr. Gewirtz, where do we start on this whole storyline shindig?"

Mr. Gewirtz let out a hearty laugh. "Stephanie, since you are not officially a member of the WWE family…Well, you are but you aren't getting paid for it yet…Anyways, we don't need to be that formal. If I'm calling you Stephanie, I must insist that you call me Brian."

Oops. Well, at least I can stop writing down "Mr. Gewirtz." "Brian" is so much easier.

"Sweet deal, Brian. So…I don't really know how this all works."

"It's not that hard, Stephanie. A storyline is exactly what it sounds like. It's kind of like the script of a movie. It tells the Superstars what is going to happen, so we're basically like one huge soap opera with a lot more blood and fighting."

I hate soap operas. They're so boring.

"What if I can't really think of any ideas for storylines?"

"Well, that's what the writers are for. You really just oversee us and tell us if we, to use the language you're used to, suck or not."

"I think I can handle that, Brian. But how do I know if it sucks or not?"

"Imagine it as a television show like…that Laguna Beach junk on MTV. Do you watch that?"

"Heck no."

"Okay, good, because that was a horrible example. That stuff is more scripted than wrestling is, anyways. So, you'll look over the storyline, and if it is something that you wouldn't want to watch, then you know it sucks."

We spent the next two hours like that, just talking about what sucks and what doesn't. Apparently, comedy doesn't suck if it's done right, which I guess sounds right. I don't really like that romance junk, either. That's probably because I've never had a boyfriend.

And thinking of Paul doesn't make it any better.

So, right now, we're on a lunch break. I'm spending my time writing this and listening to Brian talk to my mom. I guess my dad is out on some business trip or some television thing. Shocker.


September 30
th, 4:28 PM

Thank god that's over.

When it ended, I swore to myself a bit loudly, and my mother heard me. I think being sixteen is getting to my head. Maybe it wouldn't be if my parents weren't just tossing me into the insane work world that is the WWE.

Brian left about an hour ago. After lunch, we spent a whopping total of three hours going over what we had already gone over. How sad is that? I'm not an idiot. I really don't think that Brian thinks I'm an idiot. I just think this was all my dad's doing. He probably just wanted to make sure that I understand each and every point that is the storyline process. It's not like it's that hard. I mean, RAW is only the most popular television show in the history of…life.

Yeah, I have a lot on my plate.

Not only that, but guess who starts wrestling training in two days?

That's right. Me. Oh, and Paul.

Did I mention that he called me like half an hour ago? Yeah, you'd figure that I'd be a bit more excited about this, but I'm really not. To make it worse…I'll explain.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steph. It's Paul. I'm calling from Emily's phone because I didn't want you to freak when your caller ID showed a number that you didn't know."

Okay?

"Hey, Paul. What's up?"

"Well, I kind of want to see you when I tell you this, so…Could you go by your window? I'm in Emily's room."

Of course I walked over to my window. Heck, he could probably get me to jump out of my window if he asked me to. "Hi Paul," I waved. To make matters worse, Emily was standing behind him and dancing, making kissy faces at me. Thanks, Emily. Way to be mature and act your age.

"So, your big, bad father is hooking us up with a trainer the day after tomorrow at noon. He would have told you himself, but he's pretty busy right now."

When he said "hooking us up," my mind went to a totally different place. Is that bad? But what really is bad is the fact that my father couldn't tell me himself. He told my neighbor before he told me? What a great father. I can tell he really cares about my future in the business. Whatever. I know he's like in love with Paul, and I really can't blame him for that.

"Oh, that's pretty cool. Are you excited?"

"Hell yeah, I'm excited. I've wanted to do this…forever. Aren't you excited? You live with wrestling royalty, Steph. I'd kill to be in your place."

Really, Paul? Because we'll switch. I'll move in with Emily because she and I are practically sisters as it is. You can be adopted by my father since he already loves you as a son. Deal? Sweet.

"It's alright, I guess. I mean, I don't really want to wrestle, but I don't really have a choice."

"You'll love it, Steph. I know you will. Anyways, I've gotta go eat dinner and lift some weights. See you in two days."

After we got off the phone, he left the window and exited Emily's room. Emily blew me a kiss and closed the glass pane. I suppose she had to go eat, too.

Screw this. I'm going to make a fool out of myself.